


he built a fire just to keep me warm

by houseofthedragon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x04 goes differently, Arya and Dany interact, Because Arya isn't this edgy girl who doesn't make friends she loves her powerful women, Daenerys doesn't go mad, Darker Jon Snow, F/M, Ghost and Dany interact, Ghost is still here, Jealous Jon Snow, Jon knows some shit, Marriage Proposal, Not Sansa or Bran friendly, One-Shot, Rhaegal lives, Smut, Table Sex, We'll call the new Prince of Dorne Quentyn, but today's not the day, one day I'll be able to write Sansa and Bran nicely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 14:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19252963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofthedragon/pseuds/houseofthedragon
Summary: Daenerys decides to wait before she takes King's Landing so her dragons and armies can recuperate from the Great War. A visitor comes forward with an interesting proposal during that time and it opens Jon's eyes to what he truly desires.





	he built a fire just to keep me warm

“Not the way I love you,” she whispered and her heart jumped when Jon snaked an arm around her waist to tug her closer. “Is that alright?” she asked, voice frail and insecure.

And then he kissed her. Slowly, surely and then wildly, passionately, _possessively._ Dany could taste the wine on his tongue and lips and deep down she knew this wasn’t him thinking clearly but she did not care. She loved this man beyond reason. She wanted him to take her—drunk or not. She was desperate for it, aching for him. He could regret it tomorrow.

But he broke off the kiss and the argument that followed dampened her arousal.

He held her face in his hands and for a second, she could still see love in his eyes. Or maybe she was fooling herself and it was merely a reflection of her own love. “You’re my queen,” he said, thumbs stroking her cheeks, “ _Nothing_ can change that.”

“That’s all I am to you anymore,” she realised, tone clipped. “Your Queen.”

His eyes hardened and he looked guilty but he didn’t contradict her. Dany swallowed the lump in her throat. “Very well,” she said, “then do something for your Queen. Wait for me to take back the Iron Throne before telling your family the truth.”

“I owe them the truth. They need to know Ned Stark never fathered a bastard with another wom—”

“Ned Stark,” she cut him off, “kept this secret until the day he died for you. Can’t you do the same just a few more weeks for me?”

Jon dropped his hands, sighing.

“Don’t you remember what Tormund said earlier?” Daenerys asked him, voice faint, hiding the hurt. “Who rides a dragon? A King or a madman. If you’re the King then I suppose I don’t need to tell you who the madman is.”

Jon’s eyes darted up to hers as he firmly shook his head. “He didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know he didn’t but it opened my eyes to what the world sees me as. I’ll never be enough, can’t you see? You told me your people would come to see me for what I am but if me sacrificing my armies and dragons was not enough for them to see me in a different light then they never will. I’ll always be the Mad King’s daughter.” She took in a deep breath. “I saw the way Varys was looking at me earlier during the feast. Perhaps he thinks loneliness is a sign of madness. And the second he finds out that there is someone with a better claim, a male, Rhaegar’s own flesh and blood, he won’t think twice before betraying me. And I _will_ execute him for it. I promised him I would.”

Jon met her eyes. “He won’t find out.”

She begged him to understand. “He will. Your sister will use this against me.”

Jon sounded like he wanted to convince himself when he weakly said, “She won’t.”

“She will,” Daenerys snapped. “You know it. And right now is the perfect opportunity to do so. Everything is fragile. But the moment I defeat Cersei Lannister then you can tell them. We can figure something out then. I don’t want you to lie to your family, I swear, but think about what this means for me. I’m already very much disliked by your people and if this gets out Gods only know what the aftermath will be like. If you truly do not want the throne then wait. For my sake. This doesn’t only endanger my claim but my life.” She waited. “It’d be nice if the last family I have and found after all those years could do something for me.” She hated the way her voice wavered.

Jon considered her words and nodded carefully. “I can wait until after the last war is won before I tell them,” he agreed.

She visibly relaxed. “Thank you.” Searching his eyes, she wanted to add more. She wished to tell him that his parentage changed nothing for her and that similarly it didn’t have to change anything between them. But that was not her choice to make. It could’ve changed everything for him. And judging from the way he couldn’t even look at her anymore after it had been revealed to him and how quickly he pulled away from their passionate kiss earlier, she was afraid the damage had already been done.

Daenerys stepped away from him. “Good night, my lord,” she told him.

Jon’s eyes found hers and the conflict in them hurt Dany. She wanted to hold and comfort him but she knew her affections were not wanted for the night. Or perhaps any other night to come. His throat constricted with a swallow as he looked away from her. Daenerys took the hint and left his bedchamber, the air feeling chillier than ever.

*

Daenerys agreed to wait before taking King’s Landing. Sansa made a fair point; the Northern troops were tired. Rhaegal was injured. But the she-wolf didn’t seem like she wished to wait—she spoke like she was never planning to return the favour.

Jon made sure to remind her that she would have to repay Daenerys, though. “We will wait as long as Queen Daenerys tells us to,” he said, eyes pointed at his sister—cousin, “But the second she decides it’s time to go then we will. She put her own war on hold for us. We know much about another Queen who didn’t do the same. The North remembers a lot, doesn’t it? So, it needs to remember what Daenerys Stormborn did for its people.”

Daenerys felt warmth spread in her stomach at the intensity of Jon’s words and how he stood up for her. She schooled her face into formal gratitude but inside, she felt all sorts of complicated emotions. She missed his touch and love. She wondered if she would ever have that back. The thought made her so sad it hurt and she knew she would cry for him that night, as she had for all the nights he ignored her before the battle.

 She felt alone in this strange, cold place. On the boat Jon had warned her that the Northerners wouldn’t appreciate her right away but she prepared herself for it thinking that he would be here. As long as he was, she didn’t care who liked her or not.

Daenerys came to realise that even if the entire North loved her, the lack of Jon’s love would still sting the same.

As everyone departed after the council meeting, Tyrion asked to speak with her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“There was another scroll from Dorne. The Prince wanted to meet on Dragonstone but since we’re prolonging our stay here, I could take the liberties to let Quentyn Martell come to Winterfell.”

“He wants to meet me?” she repeated, raising a quizzical brow.

“I believe he wants more than just to meet you,” Tyrion said slowly.

+

_A marriage proposal._

Jon flung Longclaw so hard that even Greyworm flinched, despite not being one to scare easy. They fell into a routine of sparring – both for fun and training, long before they left Dragonstone. Winterfell made their sessions harder with the weather but Daenerys’ most loyal soldier easily accepted the challenge when Jon went to see him this afternoon.

He needed a fucking distraction.

She couldn’t possibly be considering this proposal.

Greyworm attacked him vigorously and their weapons danced and kissed, metals clashing loudly to the beat of his heart. When Jon lifted his arms in surrender and slumped on the ground, Greyworm looked at him weirdly. “Snow look tired today,” he pointed out.

“Well, we did fight an army of the Dead, didn’t we?” Jon attempted to joke.

But Greyworm kept staring at him, as if he knew something else was wrong. “Our Queen look sad too,” he reflected.

“Maybe it’s because her most loyal advisor and friend died in her arms,” Jon offered.

_But I couldn’t love him back. Not the way he wanted, not the way I love you._

Jon gritted his teeth. He was confusing himself with these battling emotions. It hurt to be near her and not be able to touch her, it hurt seeing the pain on her face when he stopped kissing her but then when he did kiss her he felt as if he should be ashamed. She was his aunt. Shouldn’t that repulse him? What would Ned Stark think of the boy he raised, being in love with his own blood?

 _Should it matter?_ Another voice said. Was he even a Stark? But could he be considered a Targaryen? Everything was jumbled up in his brain and Daenerys announcing that Quentyn Martell would be arriving to Winterfell with a possible alliance did not help. He understood the undertones. A marriage alliance. She didn’t even look at him when she nonchalantly spoke of it in open court, as if just two nights ago she hadn’t told him that she loved him.

He needed to clear his head. Even fighting with Greyworm was not helping so he took his leave and made his way to the Godswood. Much to his surprise, he was welcomed by the sight of Daenerys seated next to the heart tree with Ghost curled around her feet. He frowned. He never even introduced the two of them and Ghost rarely warmed up to strangers so to find them here, her fingers stroking his white fur, stirred a range of emotions in Jon.

She heard his footsteps and looked up, striking violet eyes meeting his. She looked ethereal in her warmer, white fur coats and the snow around her as pale as the waves of moonlight on her head. She’d always take his breath away, Jon knew. Always.

“Your Grace,” he said, bowing slightly.

The other night she addressed him as ‘my lord’ so Jon assumed this meant they were back to…this now. Titles. Masks hiding who they were and taking away the intimacy of their relationship. He supposed he asked for this in a way.

“It was the only peaceful place I could find,” she felt the need to explain, not looking at him. “Drogon and Rhaegal are healing. Otherwise I would’ve flown to the waterfall. That was the most peaceful place I’d ever known.”

 _We could stay a thousand years,_ a faint voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Jon found himself nodding. “Aye, it is very serene here. It helps to think and clear one's head.”

Daenerys licked her lips. “So I assume that is why you are here. I apologise. I should go—”

“You can stay,” he interrupted before he could think twice about it.

Ghost looked up at Jon before settling back down, closing his eyes as Daenerys ran her fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t know a wolf could be this friendly,” she said quietly, staring down at Ghost. “I thought he would not like me. Like everyone else around here.”

Jon’s guts tightened at her words - although spoken in jest, still holding truth in them. “He doesn’t usually like strangers. I suppose you’re special.”

Daenerys looked up at him and he could swear—or hope—that he saw a shadow of a smile on her pink lips. But if it was there, then it was gone the next second as she blinked. “I never asked,” she said, “do you want me to address you as Aegon?”

The words made him feel cold again. “No,” he put it simply.

Snow, Stark or Targaryen he didn’t know. But not Aegon. Never Aegon.

She nodded.

Jon couldn’t take it anymore. This falseness between them. No matter what happened, they couldn’t go back to the strangers they had once been. They knew each other’s bodies in ways no one else did and told each other their deepest fears, darkest secrets and saddest tales. What were they doing now? What was he doing? “Are you going to marry him?” Jon blurted.

He was glad Daenerys didn’t try to pretend she wasn’t aware of what he was saying. “Well, he’d have to ask.”

“And if he did?” he pressed.

Her eyes turned challenging. “Then I would consider it. As any Queen would.”

Jon huffed, the bitter taste of jealousy rising like bile in his throat.

Daenerys straightened her posture. “The best way to make alliances is with marriage. The best way to strengthen alliances is with marriage.” Her voice dropped. “I’m not going to wait around for a lover who doesn’t know what he wants anymore. I need to think like a Queen.”

She left before he could utter another word. Ghost almost looked like he wished to follow her for a moment.

*

When Quentyn Martell arrived, he made his intentions very clear.

He came for a marriage proposal.

They met in the Great Hall – Daenerys, Jon, Tyrion, Varys, Missandei and Greyworm – and Daenerys was taken aback by the Dornish prince’s forwardness and bluntness. He was not hard on the eyes with his dark hair, neatly trimmed beard and deep brown eyes. He smiled at her after his initial proposal which left everyone flabbergasted. “You and I are both young and unmarried, I think it does make sense. Unless…you’ve got someone else in mind already.”

Daenerys dared a look at Jon. He had his head bowed, hands behind his back, eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the floor. His dark brows furrowed in the slightest. Her heart twisted in an ugly way.

“I will think about it,” Daenerys finally said, looking back at the man who just spoke.

“Very well,” he said, nodding before Daenerys dismissed them.

Jon was the first one to leave, feet stomping as he rushed out through the door. Daenerys’ heart ached. _Fool,_ she thought, _I only want to marry you._ But she wouldn’t be able to withstand being married to Jon politically if he couldn’t even look at her anymore. She didn’t want a husband who was disgusted by her—especially not the man she loved the most.

Varys and Tyrion started discussing what it would mean to marry the Dornishman but Daenerys suddenly wished to hear no more of it. She listened but only half-heartedly and when that was done, she went outside to take a very much needed breath of fresh air.

Walking on snow still felt weird to her. Being surrounded by it even more. Winterfell was too glacial for her liking and she wasn’t just speaking of the weather.

“Queen Daenerys.”

She turned around, startled. Arya Stark stood proudly in front of her, a little smile on her face at Dany’s shocked expression. Daenerys let out a little breath. “Lady Stark,” she began.

“I’m no lady.”

Daenerys smirked. “The hero of Winterfell,” she corrected herself. “You’re very good at sneaking up on people.”

“It helped with the Night King,” Arya said, voice light as she approached her.

Daenerys smiled back. “I hope you are not planning to put a dagger through me right now.”

“I don’t wish to be your dragons’ dinner,” she joked back. “Don’t think I’d make a very healthy meal either.”

Daenerys chuckled. She was momentarily happy someone from Jon’s family was finally, _finally_ taking the chance to speak with her without being passive aggressive or downright rude. Plus she always remembered how Jon told her Arya was his favourite. “Have you tended to your wound?” Daenerys asked, the purple mark under Arya’s eye still very visible.

Arya brushed her fingers over it and shrugged. “I did. It’s worth the pain. I heard you picked up a sword and fought too that night.”

“I tried my best,” Daenerys said sheepishly. “I’m nothing like you.”

“I’d hoped not. I was trained for a long time to get to where I am. At least I can fight better than the Dragon Queen,” Jon’s sister replied, eyes twinkling. “Visenya Targaryen was one of my heroes. And watching you on top of your dragon was the closest I got to seeing her.”

Daenerys felt a strange warmth at the young girl’s words. Being admired by another strong woman was one of the most pleasing things to her. It made her irrationally emotional. Perhaps because she was exhausted of trying to please everyone in the North so for someone as important as Arya to tell her something nice without any double meaning to it…it felt good to hear. “I could show you my dragons. Closely, I mean. Rhaegal still needs some time to heal, though, so they’re both quite grumpy nowadays but before I leave I could introduce you to them.”

Arya’s eyes lit with a childlike wonder. “You would?” she asked, voice hopeful.

“Yes, I would.”

Arya nodded, a bit too enthusiastic. “I would like that very much, Your Grace.”

Daenerys grinned. “Your brother has praised you a lot, you know? And I can see why.”

A flash of guilt crossed her face. “He praises you a lot as well,” she admitted quietly, shifting on her feet. “I’m sorry we didn’t receive you with the warmest welcome. Especially my sister. We’ve suffered a lot to get our home back and to have a new foreign Queen here…it felt a lot like a bitter flashback. But you’ve helped us more than we’d like to admit and for that I felt the need to come and thank you personally even if my sister will not.”

Daenerys smiled. Sincerely, for the first time in a long while.

Arya continued, “My brother loves you. But I suppose you know that already.”

Daenerys’ smile faltered. _I wish it was this simple._ But she still offered Arya the most honest answer she could, “I love him too.”

+

Since they already had a victory feast, Daenerys decided to welcome her new ally with a much smaller feast of her own which could be simply considered a dinner. Sansa refused to attend and Jon rolled his eyes at her fake excuse of being tired. He was the one growing tired of her pettiness but he pushed those thoughts aside, for Sansa was not the source of his irritation for the night.

In the end, Daenerys decided it was okay for her Northern allies not to come so they ended up dining with just her usual advisors and Greyworm and Missandei. Jon had felt like he had made a place for himself in the ‘Targaryen team’ for a while now but on this particular night, he felt like an outsider. He sat across the Queen while Quentyn took a seat just next to her, giving Jon the perfect – more like, infuriating – view of both of them, side by side, like a married couple.

A darkness raged inside of him at the thought. She hadn’t spoken to him again since the Godswood. And the prince made his intentions clear. _Perhaps tonight she’ll announce she will marry him,_ he thought sourly.

“The North is too cold for my liking,” Quentyn spoke, “I would’ve preferred to meet you at Dragonstone.”

Daenerys offered a little smile. “I would’ve liked so as well. As soon my dragons and men have regained their forces, we shall be preparing for the war against Cersei. I’m sure we’ll find plenty of time to revisit Dragonstone.”

Jon didn’t like how that sounded. Everything she said could be interpreted as an invitation—they could go back to Dragonstone as a _married_ couple. He didn’t know if it was the ale or if he was being ridiculous. He stopped drinking for good measure, wanting to stay sober and see if this night could get any worse on its own.

As the minutes stretched on, Jon was growing more and more uncomfortable. Daenerys barely looked at him at all but was all smiles for the Dornishman. He didn’t know whether he was being unfair towards her; pushing her away while also not wanting her to be with anyone else. All he knew was that if she chose to marry this man, it would tear him apart. But he would remain loyal to her, until the very end.

At some point, Tyrion decided to retire to his chambers declaring that he was exhausted. And then Varys said, “Forgive me, Prince Quentyn, I would like to suggest for our Queen to wait before getting in another marriage.”

Daenerys turned her head to the Spider. “Oh?” she said. “May I ask why?”

“We’re at the brink of another war,” Varys exhaled, “the final, most important one. It would be smarter to wait until you are Queen of the Seven Kingdoms before looking for a suitor. And I mean no offence to the Prince of Dorne when saying this.”

Quentyn raised his cup, shrugging. “None taken,” he replied.

But Jon was more interested in Daenerys’ response. For a brief second, her eyes flicked to his and it was hard to decipher her thoughts. “That’s fair,” she uttered, “but still he seems to be the perfect suitor. Unless I get a better proposal…” she let the words trail off, bringing her own glass of wine to her mouth.

Jon frowned before the realisation dawned on him. He stared at her, wondering if she meant what he thought she was saying. Could they…. But she was his aunt. _Even the Starks married in the family,_ a darker voice said in his mind, _and you’re a Targaryen too._ His identity crisis was not helping his conflicting views on the subject.

Daenerys took in a deep breath. “Since there are clearly no better matches, I should consider my current option.”

Jon was getting up before he knew it. “My apologies, Your Grace, like Lord Tyrion I wish to retire for the night.”

Daenerys finally looked at him, eyes piercing. “Very well, my lord,” she dismissed him quietly.

His anger, jealousy and inner struggles to come to terms with who he was left Jon a mess. As he passed the hallway to his bedchambers, his steps slowed to a stop when he heard whispers coming from one of the guest rooms which was usually vacant. Jon frowned at the door left slightly opened and approached as quietly as he could.

“…not sure what he means by that,” a female voice was saying. Sansa. “But Bran told me that it concerns Daenerys and that it’s a very important secret.”

Jon’s heart could’ve stopped. Bran told Sansa something about his parentage without consulting him first? He wanted to figure out who she was speaking with but through the crack, he could only see darkness.

And then he heard the other voice talk, the unmistakable voice of Daenerys’ Hand. “I’ve noticed that things are not well between them,” he was saying, “and she seemed very tense during the feast. Furthermore, for her to consider marrying another man when Jon is right here is confusing to me. Something must’ve happened.”

“I don’t know what Jon’s hiding from us,” Sansa admitted and for a moment Jon deflated before she continued, “Bran said Jon will tell us eventually. And as much as I’d hate to hurt Jon, if the information is useful to ensure the North’s safety then I will do what I must.” Sansa paused.

“You’re willing to betray your family for it?” Tyrion asked what Jon wished to demand.

Sansa gave no answer and that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Our Queen…has been acting strange lately. Perhaps because of her grief for Jorah Mormont, the men she lost in war and her dragon Viserion. Whatever it is, Varys seems to believe she might not be the best thing for the realm anymore.”

Jon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. _Daenerys was right all along. About everything._ He thought she was being paranoid but no, his sister really would betray him for the North just like Varys would betray her the moment the information got out. Her advisor was doubting her when she hadn’t done anything wrong so far, only grieved a friend and felt lonely during a feast. Jon backed away from the door, horrified by what he’d just learned.

Sansa being willing to disclose information as long as it helped her cause was the thing that hurt Jon the most. There he was the other night, defending his family to Daenerys, feeling like he could trust them with his whole being. And now he was learning that one of them would easily backstab him to get what she wanted.

A moment later he was hot on his heels, ready to find and confront Bran.

He stormed in his brother’s rooms without a warning and saw Bran sitting on his wheelchair by his window, staring at the moon and not even blinking at his entrance. He slowly looked at Jon. “Jon, you—”

“Why did you tell Sansa that I have a secret which concerns Daenerys?” Jon asked, voice taut.

Bran remained emotionless. “She noticed you were quieter these days and asked if I knew what was wrong. I did not tell her anything more than that, though.”

“Aye and you won’t,” he growled out. “You will not utter a word about my parentage to Sansa or anyone else, have I made myself clear?”

“You don’t wish to tell the truth to your family?”

“No.”

Bran’s face gave nothing away. “Why not?”

He frowned. “Why should I? From what I’ve seen it’s only going to cause more harm than good.” He grew suspicious of his brother. “It seems that you want me to tell everyone. Why? Is there something in it for you?” He didn’t know if it was fair to doubt Bran like that. He was his brother, after all, the sweet and playful Bran that fell from a tower, something that traumatised Jon to an unbelievable extent and he’d once prayed to every god there was for his brother to get better. But this was not the same Bran anymore. Just like Sansa was not the same Sansa but someone who was willing to lie and betray him just to achieve what she desired. Jon suddenly felt like Daenerys—alone and unsure in a land of people he no longer recognised.

“No,” Bran answered simply. “I do not have anything to do with your parentage. It means nothing to me. I am the Three-Eyed raven.”

Jon stared at him sceptically. For some reasons, he couldn’t find himself trusting his almost inhumane gaze. But he maintained his stance, “I hope you heard what I said, Bran. No one finds out about me unless I tell them myself.” He fixed his eyes on him. “ _No one_.”

He felt a stirring in his blood, something he only felt during battles. A new kind of determination as he headed for Daenerys’ rooms, his mind made.

 _It’s the wolf in you_ , something said.

But another part of him—buried away in the darkest parts of his soul whispered, _it’s the dragon._

+

Quentyn accompanied Daenerys to her bedchamber when they finished eating. She wanted to refuse for a moment but thought against it. It wasn’t very polite to do so.

He stood in front of her then, smiling a bit. He looked pretty drunk. “I’m glad I travelled so far to come meet you.”

“I’m glad you did too,” she answered.

“Your dragons don’t seem to like me too much,” he said, chuckling.

Rhaegal didn’t like him, Daenerys noticed. He roared menacingly the moment the Dornishman approached the gates outside. Somewhere in her mind, she knew Jon was the reason for that. He might not be fully accepting his Targaryen heritage but dragons are intelligent animals and his connection to Jon must’ve deepened significantly after all the times he rode him now. And it was clear that Jon did not appreciate the Prince of Dorne so it was only natural for his dragon not to either.

Still, Daenerys deflected it with a shrug. “They will over time. Dragons are not easy to please.”

He quirked a brow. “Does that apply to the Dragon Queen as well?” His tone was suggestive.

Daenerys felt uncomfortable at the implications. Though, she supposed, if he was to be her husband he would try to seduce her one way or the other. She knew how men worked. Before she could formulate a response, the sounds of boots heavily thumping on the ground reached her ears.

She looked up, surprised to find Jon stalking towards them, displeasure clouding his brows. His face was dark with ire, jaw locked as his gaze fell on her and then landed on the man standing a bit too close to her.

“Lord Snow, isn’t it?” Quentyn said, voice light and even playful. Daenerys resisted the urge to laugh at how oblivious he was to Jon glaring at him. “I’ve heard—”

“I need to speak with the Queen alone,” Jon cut him off. Rudely.

Quentyn blinked twice. “Oh,” was all that left his mouth. He glanced at Daenerys but her own eyes never left Jon’s intense gaze so he awkwardly shuffled around before saying, “Very well. We shall speak tomorrow, Your Grace.”

The moment they were alone, Daenerys tensed up. “That was not very nice, my lord,” she said dryly. “What do you wish to speak of at this hour?”

Jon looked to his left and then right and shook his head. “Not here,” he muttered darkly and urged her to get inside her bedchambers.

Befuddled, she watched as he shut the door and locked it behind him, his intentions unclear to her.

“You were right,” he said, turning to her, blurting the words out honestly. “Sansa will do anything to obtain Northern Independence and Varys seems to think you’re becoming unstable.”

Daenerys felt dizzy for a moment, a hollow sensation filling her guts. Her worst doubts confirmed. “How do you know?” she whispered.

“I heard Tyrion and Sansa talking. Bran has already told Sansa that there was something that I had to tell them and Sansa made it clear that she would use whatever it was against you if needed. And Tyrion…well, he seems to think Varys’ faith in you is not at its strongest at the moment,” Jon explained.

Daenerys’ eyes stung at the words and she turned around so as not to show him a sign of weakness. She felt more lost than ever, not knowing what she should do next. “Thank you for telling me,” she mumbled.

“If Varys commits treason,” Jon said behind her, his voice hard and certain, “Then I would execute him myself.”

She faced him instantly, surprised by the fierceness of his words.

“I won’t tell them,” he continued, coming forward. “It’s clearly not safe. But I have a feeling word will get out anyway. Even if it’s just my brother and best friend who know, it’s already two people too many. But I have a solution to all of this. Marry me.”

Daenerys’ mouth fell open at how he didn’t miss a beat and just threw in a marriage proposal in there. “ _What_?”

He resumed, “I don’t want to rule, aye, but the only way to ensure that nobody will try to use my claim against you is if we’re husband and wife. Whenever they'll find out, it’ll be useless to try and take you down. It makes perfect sense. You’ll still be Queen.”

She barked a bitter laugh. “Funny how this coincides with someone else asking me to marry him.”

Jon’s eyes darkened. “Why, you’d prefer marrying that _prince_? It makes even less sense than you marrying me.”

“You just waltzed in here, after pushing me away for days, telling me that I was right about people wanting to betray me and then—then randomly ask me to marry you?”

“I needed time to process everything,” he said, frustrated. “Why is this such a big deal? I’m offering you a solution here. You didn’t seem to mind when _he_ came in Winterfell, randomly asking you to marry him, but when I do it it’s so irritating for you?”

“It’s a big deal because I love _you,_ not him.” Her voice cracked. “He would just be a political marriage but not you. You can barely look me in the eyes anymore. Or bear to touch me for more than a few seconds. Maybe I should just marry him instead because it would honestly hurt less and then I shall deal with treasonous people as they come my way.”

Jon’s last thread of control snapped at the last sentence and he was crowding her space in a matter of seconds and Daenerys backed away until her back hit the table. Jon pressed his body against hers and the wooden barrier and she silently gasped, both at the shock of his sudden movements and the heat from his body. “Marry me because I love you,” he rasped out and her breath caught in her throat, “Marry me because I still want you. Gods forgive me but I do. Always have and always will, no matter what my honour tries to tell me about it, no matter how wrong it’s supposed to feel. Marry me because I want to protect you _myself,_ since I’m seriously beginning to question everyone’s true intentions when it comes to you.” He sighed, a rough and agitated sound. “Marry me because I can’t stand the thought of anyone else with you.” At last he met her eyes, and she saw a fire that matched hers, “Is that better, Your Grace?”

He was infuriating, this man, and drove her mad. But she missed him so much that she did not bother questioning herself before pulling his mouth down on hers in an angry kiss. There was nothing soft or loving about it, both of their mouths opening wildly and nipping at each other like beasts in heat. She wanted to scream at how good it felt.

She bit on his lip, hard enough to draw blood or at least leave a bruise, and he hissed before pulling back, eyes dark. “I suppose I deserved that,” he gritted out.

“Yes,” she growled, breathing hotly into his mouth. “You left me alone in this cold castle and its even colder people.” He dropped his head to her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses there. She clung at his hair, snapped the leather band that held his curls together and dove her fingers in them. “I was scared and— _ah_ —” He bit her flesh and then soothed it with his tongue, “and alone. I just wanted _you_ to be here for me.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her throat, his hands pressing on her hips. “I was a bloody fool to stay away from you. I’m sorry that it took another man for me to see that I don’t care about anything else as long as I have you.”

She leaned back against the table and tipped her head backwards, letting him kiss wherever he wished. “It’s better late than never,” she breathed out, “Wouldn’t want Varys to think that the grief would drive me to madness now, do we?”

Jon groaned against her skin and lifted his head to meet her eyes. “You’re not like your father just because you’re grieving your losses,” he said with such certainty that for a moment Daenerys didn’t care who betrayed her as long it wasn’t him. “And for an advisor who’s that shitty at his job, it’s beyond me how he can doubt you when every single one of his and Tyrion’s plans failed so far. Maybe you need smarter people on your council.”

Daenerys couldn’t help the breathless laugh. “Why did you get so ruthless all of a sudden?”

“Because I’ve realised that you were correct. But not totally. The truth won’t destroy us, Dany,” he said, “the people who’ll try to use it against us will. And I won’t let that happen. Do you hear me? I won’t have it.”

She had never desired him more than she did at this moment, the way he spoke to her—the tenacity in his tone—arousing her. He was going to be with her. Nobody would tear them apart. She’d like to see them try. She nodded frantically. “I need you,” she exhaled against his mouth, kissing his top lip and then dragging his bottom one between her teeth. “ _Now_.”

“Aye, my Queen, I’m all yours.”

He kissed her deeply, one hand curling around her neck to hold her close while the other tugged at the laces on the front of her gown. She helped him with them, their hands working furiously to remove whatever was separating them.

When they got her coat off, Jon stopped kissing her to find her wearing a thin shift underneath. He frowned and grabbed two fistfuls of it, tearing the fabric apart. Daenerys gasped. “How dare you—” The rest died in her throat and was replaced with a loud moan as his mouth closed around a breast, his tongue encircling her tight nipple while his left hand played with the other, twisting the peak.

She tried to contain her moans and cries but it was fruitless, the sensations too much to handle. It had been so long since she felt his mouth and hands on her. And she was afraid the previous time had been the last time without her being able to savour it. Daenerys’ hand dropped on his head as she tugged at his curls to encourage his ravishing of her body, the table behind them creaking on the floor as she writhed against it.

Jon released her breast with a wet sound as he stared at what he did, eyes darkening further lustfully. “I’ve missed you so much,” he told her, voice guttural. “You’ve no idea.”

“I think I do,” she replied breathlessly. “I feel empty without you,” she admitted and through the thick desire, his eyes softened lovingly.

He stood up again, drinking from her mouth once more and then he turned his attention to the table. Candles and letters rested on it. Jon picked up the scroll she received from Dorne and held it up, a primal glint in his eyes. “Never again,” he snarled, his voice dark and dangerous as he crushed the meaningless piece of paper and tossed it aside.

He swept everything off the table and the sounds of objects falling down increased her desire. “Lie down,” he ordered.

Daenerys didn’t fully grasp where this sudden…darkness came from. Jon was always a calm and quiet man and even when he lost control, he never looked as predatory as he did now. It excited her. She submissively got on top of the table and watched intently as he pulled a chair to sit on before slowly lifting her skirts. He made a sound in the back of his throat when his fingertips travelled from her thighs to the centre of her legs, where her smallclothes were soaked and cunt was throbbing. His fingers rubbed against the cloth and she bit her lip. “Gods,” he groaned, his accent punctuated with arousal. “How long have you been thinkin’ about this, Dany?”

“Ever since you came to dinner and looked like you wanted to murder Quentyn with your bare hands when he led me inside, his arm looped with mine,” she said.

The pulse in his throat ticked. “You knew very well what you were doing,” he accused.

She smiled, trying to appear sinless.

He pulled her smallclothes down and began kissing his way to her cunt, starting from the inside of her knees all while his hands coaxed her legs apart. Daenerys leaned on her elbows and watched him. “Jon,” she begged, “No teasing. Not tonight.”

Jon agreed to that. The next moment she felt his mouth on her, drawing her lips apart with his fingers and delving his tongue deep inside her cunt. She writhed and moaned, digging her nails into the wood as he lapped at her wetness and then twirled his tongue around her clit, not giving her what she needed just yet. When a broken sob escaped her, he finally paid attention to the sensitive nub with his lips and tongue, sucking on it and flicking it with his tongue as she ground herself into his face.

Just when she felt the familiar tightening in her core, Jon pulled away and got up. Daenerys groaned in annoyance but saw that he was tugging at his trousers, dropping his sword belt carelessly as he got his cock free. One hand fisted his length while the other snaked under her body to pull her closer to him. They both grunted when he rubbed the head through her folds and in one swift movement pushed himself inside her. It felt like coming home again.

He thrusted deep inside of her slowly, the head of his cock kissing her womb. Daenerys looked down at where they met, her cunt glistening and pink and his cock filling her to the hilt. And then slow thrusts spiralled out of control, turning frantic and desperate as he bent down to capture her mouth in his, their tongues tasting each other. “Yes,” she cried in his mouth when he hit that sweet spot. He did it again. And again. And she was reduced to a keening mess.

His fingers threaded through her hair, holding a firm grip of her head as he fucked her relentlessly, the wood squeaking beneath their weights. “So good,” he groaned, “you feel so fucking good.”

Daenerys stared at his face. Her beautiful lover. His raven curls bouncing down his forehead, grey eyes so dark they could be mistaken as black, plump lips parted and bruised from her, his pale skin covered in sweat and flushed pink. She felt a sudden surge of possessiveness. Her Jon. Her _kin._ “Blood of my blood,” she gasped.

He met her eyes and Daenerys was afraid he’d be disgusted by what she just said, by what they were doing—afraid he was going to pull away now and decide that he was a Stark deep down, that his honour wouldn’t allow him to love or want her. But if anything, he began pounding into her, hiking a leg to rest on his shoulder so he could get a better angle. Daenerys’ eyes rolled to the back of her head as she felt, and heard, the way his cock was sliding in and out of her.

“You’re mine,” Jon said, voice gruff. “ _Mine._ ”

She whined helplessly, her own hands reaching up to tug at her nipples as he took her wildly, the hands on her hips surely leaving marks in their wake.

“Say it,” he demanded hoarsely. “Tell me you’re mine, Daenerys. Tell me you belong to me.”

“I’m yours,” she told him. “Only yours. _Fuck_.”

When she felt his fingers reach down to where they joined to play with her clit, rubbing the swollen pearl messily, Daenerys shook violently. Two more thrusts and she was done for, screaming as she came for him, her cunt pulsating and tightening against his cock. He slowed down with a groan, her walls milking him of his own release as he spilled inside of her, Daenerys squirming in delight at the feel of his hot seed leaking out. 

He fell back on the chair and pulled her with him. Daenerys buried her face in his neck, inhaling his familiar scent and sighing at it. It felt good to be in his arms again. Everything felt right, even for just a moment. His arms wrapped around her securely, his own head resting against her chest. “That was not a wise decision,” she murmured tiredly, “Pretty sure we woke everyone up.”

“Good.”

She rolled her eyes. “They already hate the Dragon Queen. Imagine what they’re saying now, that this is how I keep you loyal to me. By seducing you.”

He looked up at her, raising a brow. “Isn’t it?”

She scowled at him and he laughed, pressing a lazy kiss to her lips. “I don’t care what they say, Daenerys,” he said softly, “I love you.”

She traced the fading bruise on his cheek. “I love you too. I talked to your little sister today.”

“You spoke with Arya?”

“Yes. She was very sweet,” Dany sighed. “I wish things turned out differently with the rest of your family.”

“We’ll deal with it _together_ ,” he promised. “But first Cersei.”

“First I believe I have a marriage proposal to answer to,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Two, actually.”

Jon scowled a bit as he observed her.

“One is a seemingly kind, nice and handsome man,” she pressed teasingly, “And the other a very infuriating, often brooding handsome man who knows just how to get under my skin.”

Jon chuckled. “When you put it like that, it's quite obvious what the best option is.”

She smiled. “Very.” On a softer note, she added, “You promise we’ll do it together? And that you won’t leave me alone again – even if you don’t want me anymore?”

“I’ll never not want you,” he said, “ _This_ proves it.” He gestured to their bodies pressed together. “And aye, I swear that from now on it’s you and I together. I’m not leaving you again.”

“Good.” She smiled and kissed him again, parting his lips with her own and molding his hot mouth onto his, until she felt him harden between her thighs once more and they were ready to make up for all the lost time.

She would be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms but not without him by her side. He would be her King—in every way there was.

**Author's Note:**

> it's an open end but my theory is both jon and dany go mad and burn everyone alive & then they have 20 kids or something. the end.


End file.
